


the fall

by arukana



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Cheating, Dubious Consent, Gore, M/M, Murder, Rough Sex, Top Akechi Goro
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27585796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arukana/pseuds/arukana
Summary: Why does he deserve to die like this?Goro doesn’t know.But he doesn’t fucking care.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 5
Kudos: 92





	the fall

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the garden of eden](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26278192) by [relationshipcrimes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/relationshipcrimes/pseuds/relationshipcrimes). 



> so i started writing this months ago but crimes' original fic was too good and it lives in my mind rent free so here it is

There’s a moment where Goro thinks _‘what crime has this man committed? Why does he deserve to die like this? Alone in a dark alleyway after a long shift of doing nothing but help others? All he’s done is what I was never willing to do’._ A moment where he lets himself fall down the rabbit hole of guilt and heartache and doubt and he’s _rotting, God, the smell of it._

And then, “Are you okay?”

His voice is drowning in concern. All fake, all sickly, all cloying in the air. Goro’s stomach turns.

“Do you need me to call someone?”

 _Why does he deserve to die like this?_ Goro doesn’t know.

But he doesn’t fucking care.

The hammer finds its way to Seta’s neck.

That puts an end to Goro’s first problem. He feels his stomach right itself as Seta stumbles back, body wrought with shock, eyes widening at the strange man who just took a hammer to his throat. Those hands, those stupid _fucking_ loving hands, hands that touched what was his, hands that soothed over Akira like a balm, got him screaming, crying for more in clandestine meetings; they come up to protect himself, but Goro’s faster.

Goro feels his body move, mouth turning upwards, arms coming down for another swing, and another, and another, and another, and another-

Seta’s trying to scream, to call out for help, for the first few swings, but all that comes out are pathetic croaks and mournful tears. Goro doesn’t break skin for what feel like minutes, the flat-end of the hammer doing nothing but bruising the man’s skull, bashing the brain against bone. He can see it, blossoming and blooming like the flower on his back, the same violent shade as the skin rises in irritation.

There’s something behind those glassy eyes, something like recognition, like pity.

Goro screams himself, not caring who fucking hears him, not giving a damn that anyone could turn the corner at any minute and witness this. He flips the hammer on the downswing, the claw penetrating skin as Goro roars.

The blood splatters against his cheek.

Seta’s eyes go wider, somehow, but the pupil’s don’t move. Goro doesn’t think he’s registering anything but the pain anymore, and the thought makes him giggle like it had all those years ago when he was painted in black and blue.

Goro keeps going.

The beautiful white bone comes apart beneath the angry force of metal, delicate lace of tissues unfastening to reveal the pink canyons of knowledge and personality that is Souji Seta. Goro feels the urge to push his hands in and massage and squeeze and pop until the light in his eyes is thoroughly blown out. But there’s no time. Akira’s expecting him home.

Instead, Goro settles on hitting and smashing and whacking and pounding into the temple until there’s little left but unidentifiable sludge and bone chips and long-dead nerves.

Goro doesn’t know how long he’s been in this alleyway. It could’ve been seconds, or minutes or hours. He doesn’t remember the nauseating noise Seta’s eyes made when they exploded, or when he stopped being able to make out where Seta’s ear should be, or how exactly he’d decided Seta was dead and decided to keep going anyway.

Goro doesn’t remember a lot of things right now.

He doesn’t remember getting back into his car and driving home. Yet here he is. And he isn’t sure how long, exactly, he’s been sitting in the car.

He should go see Akira. He should-

A metallic stench hits his nose, interrupting his thought process. Fuck. Goro’s head swivels on its own.

_He fucking brought the body home._

Goro bangs his fist off the steering wheel, pulls at his hair with his other hand. What a fucking idiot!

A brief glance to the window shows him the shifted curtains. Too late to dump it somewhere, he’s already been caught. Fuck.

Fuck.

This is fine (it is not fine). Goro will just cover the body with a blanket, and make up some excuse and deal with it later.

So much for being an experienced killer.

Checking his face, spitting on his sleeve to furiously rub the blood splatters away, he gets out. He locks the car, unlocks it, locks it again, just to be sure.

Akira’s practically waiting at the door for him. Goro wonders if his inability to reach his secret lover played any part in that; vague memories of a ringtone and highway lines flash across the backs of his eyes.

“Goro?” he questions the dark hallway, as if it could be anyone else, “Where have you been?” He speaks in that panicked tone that he saves only for the most grievous of emergencies. A part of Goro wants to hit him, to ask him how he could do this to him, to _them;_ the fire of anger and betrayal still burns hot and raging within him.

“I forgot takeout.”

Confusion unfolds across his face, the statement catching him so thoroughly off guard that he struggles to pick his line of questioning back up, “Wh- what? But that’s what you went out for?”

“I know,” he says, casual and cool as he closes the door behind him. This feels an awful lot like the dance they used to do in Leblanc. When Goro held all his cards close to his chest, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

“Are you okay?”

“Am I?” He takes stock of his emotions. Fury. Resentment. Disappointment. And yet, they all swirl and mix and combine into a familiar burning deep in his gut, a wanton desire that he hasn’t really _felt_ in years. “I’m alright. Are you?”

Akira just about finds the energy to scoff at that, hand coming up to push his hair away from his swollen, bloodshot eyes. That’s a nervous habit he’s formed over the years, through a lifetime wasted with Goro. The part of Goro that finds itself consumed by resentment smiles.

He can’t say he didn’t tell him so. Any amount of time spent with him is a waste.

The rest of Goro comes closer before Akira can answer him, hands coming up to trap him between the wall and Goro’s body. He doesn’t say anything, just appraises his cheating piece of shit of a boyfriend.

He knows every inch of his body better than his own. Akira’s the only person he’s ever known like that, so intricately, inside and out; like if Akira fell to pieces he knew how to put him back together with scotch tape and love. He’d know where each patch of skin belonged, each individual strand of hair, all of his insides.

“What are you doing?” Akira asks. Of course he does, because they’ve barely touched each other in almost exactly nine months.

“You’re my boyfriend, aren’t you?” he says, nosing the flesh where his jaw meets his neck. Akira smells differently than he remembers; a little less smoke and coffee, a little more clinical. Or more like a freshly cleaned litter box.

“Where were you?” Goro’s tired of listening. The nose against Akira’s skin turns into lips, hot breath and wet tongue pushing against him as he snakes a knee between the two in front of him. “Goro, stop,” but he doesn’t even try to struggle, “I want to know what’s going on.”

Goro’s hands close in on Akira’s head with the world around them. Until there’s nothing left but _them._ The feeling of Akira’s skin, the taste of his sweat, the sound of his breathing as it quickens, or the stressed, little protests he keeps making.

It’s cute that he thinks Goro will believe him. Stupid. Goro’s stupid for ever loving him.

“I love you,” Goro breaths, making Akira shiver as it chills the spit-slick bite marks and hickeys.

“Please, Goro,” but Goro doesn’t really know what he’s asking for anymore. Doesn’t care unless he’s asking for _him._ The thigh against Akira’s cock applies pressure, more and more and more until Akira whines in his hold.

That empty smile returns to Goro’s face, “There we go.”

Akira was clearly planning on getting some tonight. The ease with which Akechi rubs him to full hardness only cements that idea in Goro’s brain. He shouldn’t care who it’s with. He should _appreciate_ that it’s Goro, that he’s not getting himself off to reconstructed moans through the phone in a bathroom while the shower runs. That there’s a body between his legs.

“Bedroom,” Goro states. Not a question or a request. He takes Akira by the hand and tugs him up the stairs. Akira has stopped protesting. So much so that Goro might start doubting his own mind, no signs at all that Akira never didn’t want him. All eager eyes and hungry mouth and pressing hands as he falls up the stairs behind his boyfriend.

Goro barely has to throw him back on the bed, Akira willingly goes down.

His pajama bottoms come off in one easy tug, and Goro throws them to the side perhaps a bit more forcefully than he should. The decision to run with the feral beast growing inside him comes as easy as breathing. He practically tears his own clothes off, knowing they’re still wet with blood and ruined anyway. Why not make it _his choice_ for a change?

When his eyes land back on Akira, he’s somehow shirtless and staring at Goro like he’s a lion at the zoo.

He climbs over his boyfriend, savouring that expression. It’s so fucking delicious. The raw fear behind his eyes, masked by heavy hormones and lust. Akira even flinches when Goro’s hands gently skim down his sides to remove his briefs. He feels the nerves jump when his mouth latches onto the meat of Akira’s thigh, biting a purple marks and dirtying up that perfect pale skin as a prize for being a cheating whore.

_Did he make you feel like this? Did he leave marks? Did you ask him to hurt you? Did he make you beg for it?_

Goro tastes iron. Akira jerks in his hold and cries out, but Goro can feel him getting harder the more blood flows past his lips. He licks his way up the rest of Akira’s thigh, popping off just as he gets to where Akira needs him most.

The way he whines is so pretty. He can almost forgive Seta. For something like this, Goro might bite the apple too.

“Goro, please,” but Goro’s too busy pushing into Akira to the first knuckle.

Akira’s not tight like he remembers. So Goro doesn’t take his time; doesn’t feel the need to take care of him like he usually does. He roughly shoves in two fingers, then three, and doesn’t care if Akira fucking cries. “G- Goro, please. It’s too much.”

In lieu of a response, Goro just jabs right into his prostate. There’s a sense of real pride as he watches Akira’s back arch and toes curl; Goro _knows_ him. Nobody, not even Souji Seta, can take that away from him. Especially not now. He feels his own cock twitch at the idea.

He’s so desperate that he’d let himself be selfish, to take what is his, if not for the circumstances. Tonight, he needs to be reminded.

“Tell me you want me.”

Akira nods frantically, like the words just won’t come out. A snarl leaves Goro’s lips as his hand comes up to squeeze his boyfriend’s throat. “Tell me,” he repeats.

“I- I- I-,” Akira gasps, fear thick in his voice, “I want you.”

The hand against his throat turns soft, sweet even. Fingers tiptoe up the hollow of Akira’s throat, a gentle scratch of a fingernail as Goro reaches the underside of his chin, to hold his jaw tight. The skin pushes together and Goro can feel the bone underneath, determined to bruise, to mark his territory. “You want me.”

“I want you, Goro. Please,-”

“You’re mine.”

There’s a flash of hesitation in Akira’s eyes. Goro would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it. “I’m yours.”

Goro spits in his face. Fucking liar.

Akira moans at the sensation; Goro doesn’t remember if he’s always been this much of a degenerate.

There’s a distinct churning feeling in his gut as he lines himself up against Akira’s stretched hole. Maybe if he were a better man, he’d listen to it; he’d stop and get down on his knees to beg for Akira’s forgiveness and turn himself into the police.

Goro is not a good person. He has never been a good person.

His forehead hits the bone of Akira’s shoulder as he sinks into the welcoming heat. “God, fuck,” Goro groans as he adjusts.

Under him, Akira gives a familiar moan that makes Goro want to cry.

_We ruined this. We ruined us. We could’ve been amazing. We could’ve been the beginning and the fucking end of everything._

_I ruined this._

Goro doesn’t wait for Akira to tell him to start moving. He remembers how long it takes him to adjust; it’s all muscle memory. He doesn’t start slowly either, neither of them need that tonight; instead he just pounds away, taking out all his frustration on Akira’s ass.

“Go- Goro, ah,” he whines, squeezing his ankles together around Goro’s back and keeping him close.

God, the way Akira is fucking looking at him. Sex-crazed lust so intense that it turns into half-lidded love. The churning in Goro’s stomach comes back, accompanied by a burning feeling across his back.

It’s the fucking tattoo. He can tell without seeing it. It’s been itching since he found out about all this.

“Akira,” Goro gasps, running his lips across a bruised jaw, “scratch me. Mark my back.”

He’s always loved that, and even if he didn’t he could tell from the eagerness of which Akira’s fingers find his inked skin. Akira keeps his fingernails long just for this purpose, and Goro moans at the dual sensation of squeeze and sharp. They leave wet trails in their wake, the blood beginning to pool in the indents of his spine and drip in rivets down his sides.

It feels so good. Goro reaches as well as he can around to his back, getting his palms wet and red before he reaches down to jerk Akira off messily. The reaction is immediate, Akira arching under him, his fingers digging deeper into his back, his hole clenching around him.

It’s not long until the both of them cum. Goro doesn’t know what he expected to feel.

The red hot anger still courses through his veins. The empty abandonment still lives in his chest. Not even the physical satisfaction of an orgasm can soothe him. All he can think about is Seta.

_How many nights did I spend here alone while you were off with him? How many times did you let him do that to you? How many times did you let him come inside you?_

Neither of them say anything as they roll off of each other, onto separate sides of the bed. Goro doesn’t ask and Akira doesn’t answer. Akira doesn’t make a comment about Goro’s back staining the sheets and Goro doesn’t laugh. They don’t even say goodnight.

_When am I going to be good enough for you?_

But that’s a silly question. People like Goro are not meant to keep people like Akira. Goro doesn’t know how to do the right thing, how to make up for all his past wrongs. It’s in his DNA. People like Goro need people like Akira to guide them.

In another life, they could’ve really been the partners Akira always said they were.

But there’s no happy ending to rehabilitation stories. Just brief moments of contentment.

Goro’s moment is over now. Has been for a while.


End file.
